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“There is no rule against it, but generally most souls have no desire to speak. However, there are always one or two who like to talk.” His amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes. “You would be one of them, I think.”
“Are you suggesting I talk too much?”
“I would never suggest anything like that,” he said, the gravity in his voice belied by the twinkle in his eyes, “even if it is true.”
I laughed, though the sound died on my lips as the smell of death began to invade the air. I stopped in front of room one-twelve, staring at the police tape that barred our entrance. Even though I wasn’t squeamish, I really didn’t want to go in there. I’d been in the presence of death far too much today.
“I can view it alone, if you prefer,” Azriel said.
I shook my head. “The Directorate sets up mobile recording units at crime scenes. Hunter will know if I don’t go in there.”
“But this is not a Directorate investigation.”
“Not officially, but that doesn’t mean she won’t follow protocol when it comes to keeping a record of everything—and everyone—that goes in or out of that room.” Even if no one else ever saw the recordings.
I opened the door, then ducked under the tape. A soft whirring greeted my appearance, and I looked up to see the black, oval-shaped recording device hovering about a foot or so above our heads. I gave it a cheery wave, showed it my driver’s license, then turned my attention to the room.
And I really wished I hadn’t.
The room itself was basic—a bed, a dresser, an old TV, and a small bathroom that contained all the necessary facilities—shower, basin, and toilet.>I frowned, but tried again. “Are you responsible for the deaths of five addicted vampires?”
Still nothing in the way of any discernible response. Frustrated, I glanced at Azriel, but he merely shrugged. “As I have said before, I am neither able nor allowed to communicate with the lost ones.”
Which left us with little more than we’d already had. I glanced around the metal emptiness of the room, trying not to visualize how they’d all died, then spun on my heel and walked out. To say Amaya was unhappy with this was another one of those understatements. And her pissed-off hissing was giving me a damn headache.
As the door slammed shut behind me and the sound echoed down the long hall, I said to Marshall, “I suggest you stop using that room. It wouldn’t be wise to introduce any more anger into it.”
“It’s not like I planned such deaths,” he said. My instinct said it was another lie. “But even if I had, what the hell do any of us have to fear from ghosts? They’re not likely to be the cause of our current troubles, given that they have no flesh, let alone teeth.”
“They may not be responsible,” Azriel said, before I could reply, “but the depth of their anger and grief is certainly enough to attract other entities.”
As Marshall’s gaze swept Azriel, it narrowed a little. Trying to read him, I thought, and knew he’d have more luck trying to read the metal walls around us. After a moment, he must have realized this himself, for he said, “What other sorts of entities might we be talking about? Demons?”
“That is always possible, given what is going on elsewhere,” Azriel replied. “But we should not limit our search to just demons. There are spirits more than capable of this type of kill. Wendigos and Rakshasa would be two of them.”
“Rakshasa? I’ve never heard of them,” Marshall said.
Neither had I, but I wasn’t about to mention that.
Azriel glanced at me, amusement briefly creasing the corners of his eyes. “Rakshasa are unrighteous spirits—always female—able to take on various physical forms. Like Wendigos, they are malevolent and cannibalistic, and their fingernails are venomous.”
“Well, both of those certainly fit what’s happened to our victims.” I crossed my arms and tried to ignore the rising sense of dread. I really, really didn’t want to face a spirit that could take on human form and eat me, but I had a growing suspicion that such a confrontation lay in my future. “How do we go about catching and killing this thing, whatever it is?”
“It has found the perfect hunting ground in this place,” Azriel said. “It will be back.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not exactly a place I can hang around very easily.”
“In flesh form, no,” Azriel agreed. “But you have other options.”
Options I wasn’t going to discuss with Marshall earwigging. I glanced at my watch and grimaced. It was nearly four. I had to be at the café in two hours—so much for my relaxing afternoon. “We need to check out the home of the last vamp who died before I have to go to work.”
“Meaning I can open the feeding rooms now?” Marshall asked.
I studied him distastefully, wondering why nature had paired an uncaring heart with such a merry countenance. But I guess that could be said about a lot of successful businessmen, and that’s all Marshall was. And the people who had died were nothing more than stock. “Yeah,” I said, my voice barely civil. “Just not this one.”
He didn’t look pleased, but I guessed if he feared Hunter enough, he’d obey. And if not, he’d open the room again once I left, and bugger the consequences.
“Excellent,” was all he said.
